Marching On
by Frozen For Now
Summary: It's the 65th annual Hunger Games. Ron, Harry, Hermione, Luna, and Neville are chosen to compete in the national Hunger Games. The problem is, three may stand in the end. Five are chosen from each house, as well as four from Dumstang and Beauxbatons. Follow our five very different people on their way to life or death. Romione (R/hr) Hinny (H/G toward the end) Nuna (NL/LL)


**Summary: Ron, Harry, Hermione, Luna, and Neville are chosen to compete in the national Hunger Games. The problem is, three may stand in the end. Five are chosen from each house, as well as four from Dumstang and Beauxbatons. Follow our five very different people on their way to life or death. Romione (R/hr) Hinny (H/G toward the end) Nuna (NL/LL)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the OC's. Mainly Snow Shott.**

 **~ Always00**

* * *

It was bright on the day before reaping day. Fourteen year old Hermione Granger made her way from her nice enough house to the library to calm the nerves that had already begun to plague her. She took a deep breath and sighed. Hermione wasn't meeting anyone at the library to help calm herself. For she had no friends. Everyone saw her as a know-it-all; a snobby little poodle. But it didn't bother her anymore. She had grown up with the taunting and teasing and name-calling. Hermione held her head down, not willing to make eye contact with anyone at the slightest bit.

Suddenly, she collided with something- or rather someone. With a gasp she quickly apologized, "Sorry! I'm so sorry!" She said sincerely. Hermione didn't want to look up to the face of the person she had run into, but something made her. A hand on her chin.

"Hey, no harm done. Why don't you look up?" A gentle voice asked. She was a girl.

Hermione looked up. The girl she had run into was a little taller than she as well as a bit older. She had long black hair in long, random curls with long, thick bangs swept over her left eyebrow. Her eyes were an unusual red and she was most certainly pale; with her skin nearly white as snow. Not only was she pale, but she was also a nit on the scrawny side. But in her deep, red eyes, Hermione saw she was kind, and brave, and loyal, and loving. However, there was a darker side as well. She was cunning, and determined, and she knew how to read people. Hermione could just see it.

"Now, why would a girl as pretty as you not want to show your face?" Asked the girl removing her hand from Hermione's chin.

"I-I'm not." Hermione managed.

"Of course you are." Smiled the girl. "I'm Snow Shott; sixteen. What's your name?"

Hermione was shocked at the kindness Snow was showing her. "Hermione. Hermione Granger; fourteen."

"Ah, I see. Where you heading off to?" Asked Snow.

"Er, the library. I th-thought I'd clear my mind. Y-Y'know b-before-"

"Yes. Erm, would you mind if I joined you? Or am I going to interrupt you and your friends?" Snow asked.

Hermione was shocked. There was this girl she didn't even know until four seconds ago, and she was showing her the most kindness anyone had ever shown her. "W-Well I-I don't have friends."

Giving Hermione the gentlest of smiles. "Well, now," she took Hermione's hands in her own, "we both have a friend."

Grinning broadly, Hermione basically made joy come out of her mouth. "Okay. Let-Let's go!"

With that, the two set off to the library chattering about anything and everything.

"The capitol banned magic and sorcery over fifty years ago." Snow stated to Hermione. But Hermione knew this already. However, she didn't mind. "But, the tributes are allowed to use magic and wands. How do they expect the tributes to understand magic and have the ability to produce the magic of the wand?"

The library was old. However, it had a comforting feeling to it. The book shelves were tall and there were tables everywhere in the library. It was quiet. Like a library should be. But there was a draft along with the comforting feeling. Snow and Hermione sat at a table closer to the back of the library where they were least likely to be bothered by anyone else.

"I – uh – know a few spells. But of course I haven't been able to perform it. I-I've only read about them. My uncle had some old books he had given me. When I opened the box, spell books grades one, two, five, and seven. They've been outlawed, but he… he managed to keep them."

Snow gave her a strange look. "Your-you're joking, right?"

Fear suddenly struck her. What if Snow went and told people? What if this altered their new friendship?

"I've read three, four, and six!" Exclaimed Snow.

Hermione looked up smiling once more. "Are you serious?"

Nodding vigorously, Snow replied smiling, "Yes! I don't care if it is wrong! It's too fascinating!" Snow glanced down at her watch. A sad look came over her face.

"What's wrong, Snow?" Asked Hermione with a worried tone.

Snow sighed. "Oh, nothing. I-I just guess we better leave. It's eleven fifty – seven at night. Plus, the library is about to close."

Hermione nodded in her agreement. "I'll see you tomorrow at the reaping."

Snow nodded slowly. "See you then, Hermione."

Hermione walked home very happy, and very nervous. Happy that she had found a friend and nervous about tomorrow's reaping. Her name was going to be put in four times. She knew things could be much worse. Her family could be super poor and she'd have to put her name in multiples of times to relieve them of taxes. Either way, she was afraid and very anxious.

Today was the day. Hermione's mind told her when she woke up that morning. Sighing deeply, she pulled herself off the bed. The house of Gryffindor would choose their tributes today. But it wasn't only her house.

There was the house of Gryffindor. Her house was the house of bravery, pride, courage, and those of great chivalry.

There was the house of Slytherin. Their house was the house of the cunning, the determined, and those who make great leaders.

There was the house of RavenClaw. The house of the brilliant minded, the wise, and those of great wit.

There was the house of HufflePuff. The house of the just, the friendly, the loyal, and those unafraid of toil.

There was Dumstrang. In which male soldiers are created.

As in Beauxbatons. Where doctors and nurses are trained.

After walking over to her closet, Hermione chose a light blue, soft fabriced dress with sleeves that reached the young girls elbows. The dress' cotton skirt, itself, came to her middle knee, and was actually quite simple. She took a deep breath. She knew she had a chance to be a tribute in the Hunger Games, but she could also be grateful. Her name only had to be entered four times. However, it was unfortunate for Snow. Her name was to be placed in six times due to her age. Hermione feared for her new-found friend and silently prayed for her.

Breakfast at the Granger house hold was quiet. The obvious fear had plagued the family of three and there was nothing to be done about it. They couldn't help the fact that the youngest of the trio could be chosen to live out her fate in a deadly arena. Hermione pushed her chair back and picked up her plate. Slowly she made her way to the kitchen sink and set the dish inside of the metal sink. Her parents did the same thing and when they all checked the time, they saw the reaping was to take place with in the time range of ten minutes.

"Come on. Hermione," Her mother said. Hermione obeyed in reluctance and followed her mother.

Lacey noticed the sheer terror on her only daughter's face and placed a comforting hand over Hermione's. "Hey," She addressed her daughter. "It's gonna be okay. You're going to be all right." She comforted.

Slowly, Hermione nodded her head and reluctantly, Hermione and her family walked out the doors of their small, humble, cozy place Hermione called home.

Hermione Granger made her way to the line of possible tributes who were signing in, just as she was about to do herself. After waiting in line for about five minutes, Hermione felt a light tap on her shoulder. She whipped her head around to see the exact person she wanted to see at this very moment.

Snow Shott stood with in inches of Hermione, with a weak smile upon her red lips. "You okay?" She asked. Snow knew the answer, but asked only trying to lighten the mood.

Hermione sighed for like the thousandth time this morning, "No." She answered honestly.

"You'll be okay." Snow encouraged her. "Even if you get picked, you have brains. Brains allow you to survive."

Nodding her head, Hermione signed herself in with the prick of her finger, allowing her blood onto the white parchment.

Mistress McGonagall stood on the large platform where the 65th annual Hunger Games tributes of the House of Gryffindor where soon to stand. Mistress McGonagall had just finished giving her speech now began to draw the tributes.

Hermione began to sweat. Her nervousness began to eat away her heart. The knawing, nauseating feeling of fear entered her for the millionth time in the past two years. It was hard for her to believe that she was standing here for the third year now and she was still down right nervous, and anxious, and afraid. To keep her sanity, Hermione repeatedly told herself she was not going to be chosen out of millions and millions of names placed in the large goblet from which Mistress McGonagall draws the names of the tributes from.

 _'_ _Not me. It's not going to be me.'_ She said to herself in her mind with very little confidence, backing up the two statements.

"Now," The gentle and determined voice of the Mistress began. "I shall draw the names of this year's 65th annual Hunger Games Tributes."

Very few claps of applause could be heard from the house of the Gryffindors.

Mistress McGonagall placed her hand inside the goblet and drew out the first name. As she opened the slip of paper, Hermione's stomach squeezed together in pure fear as she continued to chant in her head.

Clearing her throat, Mistress McGonagall read out the first name of the first tribute. "Harry Potter."

A thin, short boy about the same age as she slowly made his way to the stage. He had unruly, thick, black hair and circular glasses sat on his nose. Behind these glasses, there were a pair of bright, emerald, green orbs for eyes. He was dressed in over sized dress robes – that where faded and black, but looked too much like a charcoal color -, obviously previously belonging to someone else at least three times his size. There was a little bit of an applause, as Mistress McGonagall reached her hand back into the goblet and pulling out another sheet of paper.

Hermione began praying and hope it wasn't her or Snow.

Then, Mistress McGonagall cleared her throat once more, and read off the name on the parchment. "Snow Shott."

Hermione's spirits dropped immediately. _'NO…'_ Her mind gasped. But Hermione watched as Snow walked up to the platform. Pride on her face. Pride of representing Gryffindor.

The girl with long, random curls that fell on her shoulders made her way to the platform. She looked sad, but determined. Determined that she would make it back to Gryffindor, or die trying. She had chosen to wear a black skater skirt and grey blouse. Her unnatural red eyes gleamed with bravery as she stood proudly on the platform overlooking the house of Gryffindor. Clapping was ensured lightly as the Mistress placed her hand into the goblet once more.

A small sigh escaped her thin lips as Hermione started her chant once more. "Ronald Weasley."

There was no immediate response. Murmuring could be heard and finally, a tall, gangly boy of the age of fourteen made his way, soberly, to the stage next to Snow. He had bright ginger hair that was long on his neck and freckles all along his face. His bright blue eyes tied him together, and Hermione had to conclude that he was rather… cute at the least. The boy wore an old, red, flannel patterned shirt and nicer jeans. However the jeans were a bit short. There was applause for him as well, but it was quiet.

Mistress McGonagall reached inside of the goblet once more, and Hermione chanted once more. "Neville Longbottom."

Another boy came from the crowd at the age of fourteen. He was a bit awkward and he had large teeth. He wore black and white robes and a nervous facial expression. Clapping was heard once more, and Mistress McGonagall reached into the goblet one last time.

Everyone seemed to hold their breath as she pursed her lips together as she unfolded the last slip of parchment, containing the last tribute of the year. Hermione prayed her hardest as Mistress McGonagall read the last name of the tributes.

"And… Hermione Granger."

And that's when all her hopes shattered as she stood still, as if frozen in time.


End file.
